top of page
  • Writer's pictureSandra Dosdall

She was a bit of a Savage

She is unruly, raw, as real as they come. A warmth radiates from Her skin, She is electrifying and inviting. Her prey falls into Her arms, succumbing to the power of Her will. She can be as soft as cashmere and lace, or tough like leather, weathered from experience. Pushed to a tattered and distressed perfection. The expansive years falling on Her with ease, sitting on her warm and regal like a royal quilt. She is strength and endurance, lean muscle, and bone. Her body chiseled, from deliberate honing, her efforts apparent, the magnitude of power unyielding. Her eyes dark, knowing, a soul of great history, of vast knowledge penetrating into the deep spirits of the hopeful. A sharp shooting idealist, She is everything that no one expected. She has come, pragmatic, observant, reactive; if there were rules She will break them, oblivious to structure, and boundaries She is a bad ass. She came with a purpose, to love and to protect, above all She will concur the obscurity. She is a savage, tearing apart what was done before her, what was not to be. That which was wrong. In the name of Him, She will right the course. There are stories that no one can explain, and when we are gone, the broken heart will remain untamed, a fragment of what was; will stay. Nothing shall be unseen, no cry unheard, He will right what was wrong. And She will be unforgotten, the Savage the was sent to save Her.

~Original Post December 7, 2016

3 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page